Landmark Booksellers

Last Sunday, I had the pleasure of attending the baptism of my best friend's second daughter, Anna. I had been fortunate enough to have attended the baptism of Anna's older sister, Becca, almost four years ago, so it was nice to continue this tradition. I was happy to spend the time with my friend and her and her husband's family, and I was glad to share a celebratory brunch with them all. Still, several hours of this left me drained, and as we departed the restaurant, I knew I needed some time to refresh. (I also wanted to ensure they had plenty of family time together because I know how very important that stuff can be.)

It was rainy that afternoon, the kind of downpour that encourages one to stay inside, curled up with a good book. When, however, all that awaits you is a serviceable but sterile hotel room, exploring in the rain doesn't seem so bad. Luckily, I had an idea in mind. 

In preparing for my visit to Tennessee, I had done some research on Franklin (the town south of Nashville where my friends live), and the one website I kept returning to was one for an independent bookshop, run from a gorgeous older house on the main street of the historic downtown area. Like libraries, bookstores cast a spell over me, luring me in and making it very hard to leave without something new in my hand. This store in particular, though, was imbued with a special sort of charm, no doubt one reflective of the owner.

My arrival was announced by the jingling of the bell above the door. The owner immediately greeted me, an older gentleman with broad smile on his face and a welcome drizzled with the honeyed-accent of the South. He explained the layout of the place and then left me to explore on my own. 

It was strange at first, wandering through the rooms of this old house. It was definitely a far more intimate experience than one ever feels at even the nicest of large bookstores. Each room held books for a particular genre, and in each room, there were a few places to sit and browse through the massive collection available. I imagine if I ever leave my book lust unchecked, my house would look very much like this. Bookshelves covered just about every inch of wall space (outside of the bathroom, which had its own unique decor). The books that filled the shelves were not the standard mass paperbacks found in your local Target. They were first editions, signed copies, books with their own histories beyond the ones captured between their covers.

If I may indulge a bit of a Romantic notion, this place reminded me why a complete shift toward digital books would be a huge loss for society. Not so much that the stories of each book will be lost, but the stories that are often shared with the book. How can you tell how well-loved a particular book is if you do not have the worn, tattered cover and dog-eared pages? How can you replicate that strange connection between you and a previous owner when exploring his marginalia? How can you ignore just how powerful it is to be in a room filled with books, books that hold within their covers promises of knowledge, adventure, love, life? Sigh...

(Stepping off my soapbox now.) I slowly made my way through each room, browsing the different titles, not really looking to buy anything but to get a feel for what was there. When I finally made my way back to the front of the store, I had to compliment the owner on the store. I asked him about what compelled him to begin this business, particularly with the challenges facing independent bookstores. Quite simply, it boiled down to his and his wife's love for books and their desire to do something together. For the next ten or so minutes, we shared our mutual affection for what books are and how integral they have been in our lives. Both of us had an older relative who encouraged our reading from a young age and both of us saw that a book is more than just a physical object. He shared with me a few of his favorite books--an entire section dedicated to books about books and bookselling...there were a lot, and many of them looked like an interesting read. I had to settle on just one.

I had to ask how the current trends in the economy in general (a shift to the internet commerce) and how digital technology are affecting the store. He admitted an uncertainty about how long he and his wife can keep the business running, but while there was a tinge of disappointment, there was not rancor in his words. He expressed a level admiration for how digital books will transform the industry and seemed intent on embracing it as well. And he found some silver linings--fewer trees being cut down, information made more widely available in no time at all. The part of me that desires instant gratification finds this appealing, but it still saddens me that some of what makes books what they are is fading away. 

In a world that is increasingly becoming digitized, I find comfort in the physical. The ability to hold a book in my hands, to flip through a few pages, or to start reading wherever I choose are pleasures, as simple as they may be, that I enjoy when at the library or bookstore. Thankfully, we are still several years away from a completely digital world, I am sure. And until then, I will enjoy the joy of discovering places like Landmark Booksellers, where those who still believe in the magic of books can share their love and make memories that imbue said books with even more value.

Cymru

In my last post, I mentioned the waves of nostalgia that wash over me this time of year. When I noticed the date today, I realized that it was on this day nine years ago I arrived in Heathrow Airport for the first time. The memory of the trip over itself is a blur. I vaguely recall leaving behind a hot Texas summer, a short layover at O'Hare, and a long flight where sleep proved evasive. All around, I heard variations of the English accent I had so much loved, and that alone was enough to make me smile. However, it took me asking the passport control agent three times to repeat herself before I could answer her questions (her accent was quite thick, and my head was a bit fuzzy from the lack of sleep). Still, once that little hiccup was resolved, I collected my two suitcases (I would argue that since then, I have managed to fit all my necessary possessions in two suitcases or less), and I spilled out into the arrivals area. (I'll try to keep my asides to a minimum, but I have to say watching the opening scene of Love Actually always reminds me of my second trip to Heathrow, when I wasn't emerging a complete stranger actually had a couple of friends there to greet me. I'll save the harrowing trip I took to get to Wales for the spring semester, but all the struggles, worries, and frustrations were immediately erased by smiling, familiar faces.)

Back to the initial arrival: Since everyone was arriving at different times throughout the morning, the bus that was to take me and my fellow study abroad students to Wales wasn't scheduled to leave until 12:00. It was only a little after 6:00 when I arrived. Having two large suitcases made exploration a bit tricky (I was on my own at this point, so no one to watch my bags), and I was little more than concerned about how easy it would be to find the others.  The novelty of being in England was waning, and I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. I needn't have worried, as a couple hours later, I saw a familiar red object in the air. It was the folder each student had been mailed weeks earlier in preparation for their time abroad. Even more surprising, the folder was in the hands of an acquaintance from my home institution (Greg, who I had met a few times through campus ministry and through my friend Matt...Greg played quite an interesting role in a surprise birthday party now that I think about it. I forgave him that, though...). I quickly moved toward him, relieved to see a familiar face. Soon, there were lots of us, exchanging life histories, travel plans, and the like. I didn't know at the time how much an impact these people would have on my life, but the newness of it all renewed my enthusiasm, and I couldn't wait to get out of the airport and explore.

My fellow travelers, St. Govan's Head

Still, there was a three plus hour bus ride west to take us to Carmarthen (Caerfyrddin in Welsh, which translastes to 'fort of Merlin'), and we had yet to meet the man who would become our intrepid leader on so many adventures. Indeed, we would have to wait longer, as it was his trusty sidekick, Mike, who met us at the airport and directed us to our coach. Our bus driver (whose name alludes me at the moment, which aggravates me!) was a bit gruff, and I admit, if I thought the accents I encountered at passport control were difficult to comprehend, I hadn't been prepared to deal with the Welsh accent. Still, we were able to load up and get on the road in no time at all.  

My eyes remained glued to the window for much of the journey to the place I would call home for the next few months (I had come to Wales intending only to stay for the fall semester), marveling at the lush greenery, rolling hills, and how everything was just so British. I will admit that when I had signed up for my semester in Wales, it wasn't my first choice of country, but it was by far the best deal. I first saw it as an entry point to explore England and Ireland and the rest of Europe. Little did I know then how deeply it would permeate into my soul.

Most everyone else quickly fell asleep, letting the exhaustion from hours of travel to overcome them, but I couldn't sleep if I tried. In a bout of inquisitiveness not usually of my nature, I asked Mike all of the questions that came to mind, probably trying his patience more than was fair of me to do. Still, I wanted to know as much as I could about what I was seeing, where I was going, and anything else I could learn. (I had already read all of the recommended reading, so I wasn't completely ignorant, but as Mike was an American who had done the same program years earlier and was living in Wales while getting his masters, I figured he would have a lot more insight that one could not glean from a book). As I watched the scenery pass before my eyes, I could not wipe the smile off my face, not knowing how to if I tried. I was making a dream come true, and the elation I felt could not be dimmed for anything.

We finally arrived on campus after having picked up the few students (one of whom, Ginny, was celebrating her birthday, so a shout out to her today) who had opted to do a home stay. The campus was small, even smaller than TLU. It was a good mile away from the town center, on top of a hill (this would make for many a long trek back when coming back from the grocery store or getting caught in the rain). We were given keys to our rooms, told to take some time to unpack and explore, and then given the option to have a welcome drink at one of the many pubs in town, Dri Eog (Three Salmon). There isn't much more to say. I enjoyed the evening, getting to know the others while nursing a Diet Coke (while only 20 at the time, the legal age is 18, but I still felt a little weird about the whole alcohol thing...). I vaguely recall wondering how we managed to get back to the college without getting lost on the winding streets (not the last time I would find myself wondering this, either), and I couldn't recall having ever felt so tired (I was running on about two hours of sleep for a forty-eight hour period, which leads to a little haziness even in the best of us, I think). But I was in Wales, and I would never be the same.

In the Details

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if (God forbid) one day you were found lost without any clear form of identification, unable to say who you were or where you were from?  If the only hope of figuring out who you are came from the possessions you carried with you? For some strange reason, I find myself doing this on occasion, and while I admit it is a bit narcissistic to dwell so much on myself (should these solipsistic exercises really seem so shocking?), it is interesting to think about how I have decided to construct myself every day. 

I always start to think about the few things that are always there. What would they think about the ring on my left hand, encircling my middle finger? A band of seven cherubs, all of whose features are no longer distinct through years of wear. Would they discover that it was a gift from a high school friend, someone who saw me as a better person than I ever was? That I wore it to remind myself that in spite of all my self-doubt and insecurities, there were people out there who truly cared and who really did think I was a good person. That sometimes, I thought through wearing it, I could actually live up to those perceptions and be a better person; to act as a guardian angel for others, guiding and supporting when they most need it. As the years wore on, I let this friend down, probably numerous times. And while the distance has become significant, the memories are still very important. 

On the other hand, a Claddagh ring, a souvenir from my second trip to Galway, bought in a tiny jewelry shop just off the path from the open market. The small hands hold not only a heart, but hundreds of memories of a year abroad. Bike rides, long hikes, walks in the rain. Nights at the pub, the frenetic pace of the disco, the mornings after. Different language, different culture, a world apart. A time of growth and discovery and a time of challenges and frustration.  It is worn with the heart facing out, according to tradition, to indicate the heart is still free. In all honesty, purchased with the hope that one day it would face inward. (There was a particular man in mind at the time of purchase, but as the years have elapsed, he is not much more than a shadow, and while his influence is still there, it is more the idea of him that I cling to than the actual person. Ah...unrequited love; a power stronger than many of us can honestly fathom for something that is mainly generated in the mind.) Almost ten years later, the heart is still free, and no real sight to that changing.

The only other piece of jewelry (if you can call it that) is a simple watch. The date is perpetually set to the 26th. Something with the mechanism broke within a year of buying it. However, it still manages to keep the time, and really that is all that matters. The watch may seem a bit of an anachronism for someone my age, an outdated piece of technology replaced by the ubiquity of cell phones and their precise, satellite-driven time. Indeed, the lack of a cell phone on my person would probably seem strange. What 20-something (okay, almost 30-something) does not have a cell phone somewhere within hands' reach? I own it out of necessity, but I rarely, if ever, carry it with me. It sits forgotten most days, ringer on silent, hidden in the bowels of whatever purse or bag I have used for the day. You would not learn a whole lot from it. There wouldn't be any incoming call history (no one ever calls the phone) to check, and the outgoing calls would list only one number, a number with a Texas area code that hasn't changed in over 28 years and will always be, in some way, home.

Moving beyond the simple accessories, a quick assessment would show a woman of inexpensive tastes. On any given day, you will find me wearing at least one article of clothing from Target (if not the entire ensemble), supplemented by pieces picked up here or there on clearance from other major discount chain retailers. The style is basic--vaguely professional in that what is worn is a step up from jeans and a t-shirt, but nothing that calls attention to itself either. Colors tend to be neutral, cuts classic. It is possible that some of the dresses are a bit more feminine, but never really blatantly 'girly.' The shoes will most likely be a pair of flats, worn down from excessive use and long, drawn out walks during lunch. I don't bother with make up, and my hair is allowed to do whatever it feels. While I do care what others think about my appearance as much as I don't want to be dismissed as slovenly or tasteless, I don't make much more of an effort than that. If it's clean, matches, and comfortable, then it will suffice.

The Travel Bug

As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, I received my new passport in the mail. Little did I know that flipping through its clean, crisp pages would get me thinking about my next big adventure. Surely, having just come back from Croatia, there was no need to jump on a plane for another trans-Atlantic flight. Besides, over Labor Day, I am heading to Nashville. Shouldn't that quash any need to venture far and away?

But staring at those blank pages felt like a challenge to begin filling them again. My last passport (which I received in the mail yesterday, holes punched in each corner) had stamps from all over Europe--England, Germany, Italy, and Greece just to name a few. While not completely full, it still reflected the great adventures I have taken these past ten years, and it made me wonder how will I begin these next ten years of exploration. If I had been my normal practical self, I would have put my passport away until next year. But the urge to go somewhere soon gnawed away at my mind these past couple of weeks. Add to that conversations with my good friend Lauren (my most dependable travel companion), and a destination became clear. Perhaps a bit unorthodox in nature, and clearly not high on the list of must-sees on anyone's list. But, in a lot of ways that makes it all the more appealing. I admit I would have never gone here if Lauren wasn't currently teaching there, but that is what makes this perhaps my most adventurous trip yet. Sick of me not naming the country yet? Wait no longer...in late October, I will be hopping on a plane to Kazakhstan.

Located in Central Asia, Kazakhstan is probably best known (if it is at all) because of Borat. Having never seen the movie, I am not sure what preconceived notions it has created in the mind of its viewers, but as I read more and more about it, I am fairly certain what I will experience will not be like that. It will be interesting to visit the ninth largest country (in area), to see the Tian Shan mountains, to experience the vestiges of the USSR, to see a mix of East and West. Compared to the other countries in the area, Kazakhstan is quite stable and has a strong developing economy, mainly based on the rich natural resources that remain fairly untapped (i.e. natural gas, oil, minerals, etc.), and it enjoys good relations with the United States. I will still have to go through the whole visa process, which is also new to me, but outside of jumping through hoops, I should have no trouble attaining one. And I guess I should start brushing up on my Russian :)  What excites me most of all is that doing this will be just the beginning to many more unorthodox journeys...I just know it!

So, if you were to jump on a plane now to somewhere completely off-the-wall, where would it be?

A Few Steps Forward

So, in an attempt shake things up a bit without throwing my entire world off-kilter, I decided earlier this week to turn in a volunteer application for the local library. Today, I met with the volunteer coordinator, and it looks like pretty soon, I will have my chance to work in an actual library. (After I mentioned I had my masters in library science, she looked puzzled and asked several times during the very short interview why exactly I wasn't working in a library. It was not the easiest question to answer.) Assuredly, you will hear more as this whole thing develops, but I am looking forward to this new challenge.  All that I have to wait for is my background check to clear (I am pretty sure there are no felonies on there...), and I should be meeting with someone to begin the training process.  Hooray!

And in another bit of happy news, my renewed passport came in the mail yesterday. It was weird not having my passport for the past month and a half. I didn't realize how much I valued the idea of being able to book a last-minute flight somewhere overseas and not have to worry about proper documentation. The feeling must attest to some greater need of not being "trapped," I guess. While I have no plans to leave the country quite yet, there have been some discussions of an upcoming trip abroad (some plans have not been so serious--a quick flight over to Italy for some authentic Sicilian cuisine--while others are truly being considered dependent on how schedules all work out for the friend I intend to visit). I do know, though, that it is looking pretty certain that come Labor Day weekend, I will have a quick jaunt over to Nashville to visit my best friend and her family. In doing so, I will get to meet her new daughter (yet to be born, but her birth is imminent) and visit a new city. I am already counting down the days.

Other than that, not a whole lot new in my world. I am looking for some inspiration to writing more intriguing blog posts, but for now, a weekly update is all you are going to get!

All Good Things Must Come to an End

Or so the saying goes. And in reality, it is true. Knowing this doesn't make life all the easier, particularly after a week spent in a beautiful country enjoying the company of three great fellow adventurers and challenging myself both mentally and physically. So, in my typical fashion, I began mourning the loss before things were even over. And it is with this post I bring my musings on my trip to an end, leaving my memories behind for the time being and moving forward to wherever life takes me next...

The final day of our tour was to be the most challenging hike (at least it ended up taking the most time of all the other hikes and I at least was running on fumes energy-wise) up to the top of Mt. Ucka. I wasn't ready to move on. Partially, I knew saying good-bye put me all the closer to returning home, back to a reality with which I had been struggling a lot previous to my trip. I still had two days of travel ahead of me (my solo trip up to Slovenia), but the heart of my vacation was about to end. I also knew that in some ways, as Marty, Tom, Davor, and I went our separate ways, the spell would be broken and the friendship and camaraderie we had experienced during this week would be challenged by time and distance. Would we remain in touch as we had promised or would our time together transform into nothing more but fond memories we share with whomever is willing to listen? Previous experiences had made me skeptical, but I remain encouraged that this will not happen this time around.

Our Final Destination

So, while I began the day with a smile on my face and ready to face the world, the higher we climbed, the bleaker my attitude became. Despite enjoying cherries pulled directly from the tree and wild strawberries full of flavor, a bright blue sky, and majestic views, my attitude gradually soured. My head was filled with thoughts of looming decisions, unresolved issues, and letting go. I found myself lingering, falling behind the group to put more distance physically between myself  and the others in some twisted attempt to add distance emotionally, convincing myself doing so would make it easier to get on the train the next day.

(Some of you may have noticed this, but I hate saying good-bye. If given the choice, I would head out unnoticed without any acknowledgement or fuss. There have been several times in my life that I have left without so much as a word, telling only a few select people, and then slipping away.)

I didn't succeed in making myself tangential that day. It really is hard to do when there are only four of you, and even in this short time, the others recognized something was bothering me. As we hunkered down atop the peak, trying to find some shelter from the chilling wind, we talked about the next steps in our journey. For Tom and Marty, it was a trip to Split to visit with their son and then down along the coast to Dubrovnik with stops along the way. For Davor, a day's rest before embarking on his next tour. For me Slovenia, and then, who knows? I had mentioned my current quandary regarding what I was doing with my life, and their kind words and support about what lay ahead were almost enough to make me cry (I really was a bit on edge this last day...and their compassion made me realize just how much more difficult it would be the next day).

So, I vowed as we descended to stop my foolishness and to embrace the time left instead of shutting myself completely down. I admit to falling behind yet again as we climbed down, but this time instead of unbidden thoughts about what was to come, strains of music flooded my mind in an attempt to distract myself from my seemingly inevitable slide down the mountain. Of all the hikes, this was the steepest downhill path, and I was quite nervous...scared even if I were to be honest. I have to say, singing to yourself works wonders!  I got down without falling once, and outside of a few blisters (my first of the entire trip), I managed to emerge unscathed.

Still, at the end of the hike, I was sad. It was pretty much over, and while the others had a lot to look forward to, I wasn't feeling quite in the same position. Slovenia beckoned, but its call wasn't as alluring as it had been when I first booked that leg of the trip. (This was perhaps my first inclination ever that traveling by oneself can indeed get lonely.) And too soon after that, I would be back in Kansas City and then heading to a quick trip to Texas that I was dreading. Reality loomed far too heavily in front of me, but somehow, I managed to push it away from my mind that evening. Our last meal together was another delicious offering, and I indulged in a couple of beers to celebrate a week's worth of successful adventures. For once, I was focused on what was, not what was to come.

While Marty bowed out early that evening, Tom, Davor, and I lingered at the table, and even sought out somewhere else to go after dinner was finished. Strangely enough, there is not a whole lot open (ok

I was up early (no surprises there), and I was packed and ready to go in no time. I tried to kill more time before heading downstairs because I had the feeling I would be alone for breakfast, but I couldn't focus on my writing or anything else, so I made my descent. My instincts proved to be accurate, so I ate my meal alone. I waited for about 45 minutes to see if anyone else would be along, and when that didn't happen, I went upstairs to check I had everything for about the tenth time. The rest of the morning passed in a blur of anxiety and sadness on my part. I felt silly feeling so emotional, which in turn made me adopt the distant air from the day before. When the others had finished their breakfasts, and we had loaded into the van, we drove to Rijeka.

The bus station was our first stop. Tom and Marty were buzzing with energy, their excitement to see their son not at all inhibited by the prospect of an eight-hour bus ride, and amid their enthusiasm, it was impossible not to smile for them. Before they made their way to the ticketing area, though, they made sure to get a picture of all us together. And then, in a flurry of activity, there were hugs and promises and perhaps a few tears, and it was time for them to go. These things always seem to happen so quickly it takes me a long time to process what had occurred. I hopped back into the van, not looking forward to the next good-bye either. I had even considered asking Davor which direction to head and offer to walk instead of being dropped off to save him the trip in order to endure yet another good-bye.

When we did get to the train station, I found myself unsure what to say. With Tom and Marty, I had taken a moment to write a short letter expressing just how much it meant to me to share this vacation with them. I couldn't find the right words to do the same for Davor, and despite my hopes that I would suddenly be blessed with something to say, I made a muddled attempt to express my gratitude and appreciation for everything. I don't remember what I said, but I have the distinct impression it was garbled and awkward, and I felt a little embarrassed by it. I wanted it over as quickly as possible, so with a final smile and a quick hug, I grabbed my bags and headed into the station. Another chapter closed, and I was back to being super-independent solo traveler, but with a little more hesitance in my step and questions in my mind about the value in being SO independent.

And here, I close the chapter to this year's big adventure, returning to my quiet, unexciting life of spreadsheets and proofreading, books and blogs, solitary evenings and weekends. After a month of this, I am feeling the urge to shake things up. Stay tuned...perhaps things will change.

A Souvenir of Sorts

So, what follows was my souvenir to my great friend, Shelley. She didn't want anything from Croatia, really, but she did ask me to eat a pastry for her and let her know how it went.  Because I cannot do anything quite that simple, I took it a step further. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed researching and writing it.

As you had requested of me, I have done my best to acquire, photograph, and taste a pastry in your honor. Indeed, I have done even better by enjoying a bit of local dessert every day. It was challenging, I assure you, and sometimes, I did not have my camera at the ready to capture the delicious goodness of my chosen desserts.  Still, I think you will not be disappointed.  (Except maybe in the quality of some of the photographs…I need practice J)

My first choice of pastry was a tart cherry strudel. It was still warm when I opened up the bag and positioned it for its debut as a food model. The blood red cherry filling oozed from between the flaky layers, hinting at a sense of danger and temptation (too much drama? J). While most sane people would tear into it with their teeth, ripping through the pastry, I took a more delicate approach, using my hands to create smaller bite-sized pieces. The sweetness of the powdered sugar contrasted nicely with the sour cherry, and it made for a pleasant afternoon snack. Still, nothing in particular struck me as being uniquely Croatian, so I vowed to continue searching for something different.

Another day, another pastry. I chose a different bakery today in Zagreb, and I opted for another strudel, this time filled with something between cottage cheese and cream cheese. (Maybe kind of like ricotta in texture.)  The filling had a hint of sweetness, but nothing like is typically found in American desserts. I will refrain from describing the filling sans pastry as it could easily devolve into something vulgar, disgusting, and well…yeah. I’ll leave it at that. However, that aside, it tasted great. I am not sure whether I would say it was better than the cherry or not since both were distinctly different flavors. But, I wasn’t satisfied, so the quest continued.

Image www.zagreb.hr/ 

(On a side note, to supplement today’s choice of pastry, I opted to indulge in Vinček (pronounced vin-check) ice cream…what I think was a mixture of chocolate and vanilla swirled with hazelnuts. Outside of the life-threatening hazelnuts, I think you would have enjoyed it!)

Image From chicgalleria.com

The heavens opened up, and all seemed destined for misery on the day we headed to Plitvice National Park. Despite the fact that Plitvice is one of the country’s most famous places to visit (and one of the world’s most beautiful), the gray weather made it seem a little less than appealing. The crowds also did not bode well for my enjoyment of the day, but in the end it all worked out , and I had a lovely time. My quest for dessert was limited today, although a small piece of apple strudel offered by my good Canadian friend, Tom, helped tide me over until later. (It wasn’t really all that exciting, but it was something, right?)  Still, later that evening, I felt it my duty to find something more, and so I sampled the palačinka (pala-chinka), a crepe filled with apricot jam and sprinkled with powder sugar and drizzled with honey. (imagine the chocolate to be honey on the stolen picture above.) Again, no pictures by me, but it was amazing. What better food to sustain international talks about politics, government intervention,  and the role each country has in helping out in the global community?  I cannot think of any J 

 

Image from croatia.org

(I stole this photo from the internet…I wasn’t good about keeping my camera handy)

On the third day, after hiking up to a castle and then up top for a beautiful mountain view, we stopped in the town of Samobor. There, we enjoyed the most delicious of cakes—kremsnite—as we relaxed after our (not so) arduous journey.  The kremsnite is best described as a custard filling (vanilla in flavor this time around) topped with a thin pastry crust. The top is removed and eaten first, like a small appetizer before the main meal. Then, you delicately eat the filling, airy and light with a hint of vanilla sweetness. It almost seems insubstantial as it dissolves in your mouth, so you are compelled to eat more to be sure it is not just something you have imagined. It is definitely something to savor and enjoy—even as the skies darken and the thunder rumbles in the distance. Not a bad way to end a fabulous hike!

On the fifth day, if I had known the splendor of the dessert that awaited, I would have brought my camera. (Lucky for you and me, it was served again a couple nights later—the picture included is from then, but it looked much the same.) I also photographed my lunch, a delicious polenta

Image from http://www.sarahs-blueberry-recipes.com

 

Palačinka for dessert again, but instead of a fruit filling, this time there was a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and instead of honey, it was covered in blueberries. After sea kayaking along what had to be Croatia’s (if not all of Europe’s!) largest nudist campground on the Adriatic, I think I deserved to enjoy the light crepe with its deliciously cool ice cream and beautiful blueberry sauce. Kayaking is hard work, and I was exhausted by the time dessert hit. Still, I couldn’t let such a delicacy go to waste, so I managed to keep my head upright long enough to finish it. Seriously, if you ever find yourself in Delnice, Croatia, do yourself a favor and visit Hotel Risnjak for dinner and dessert! (Closest image I could find to stealJ)

On the final day of the tour, we had a choice of strudel for dessert. I probably should have stuck with the blueberry (pictured above), but I decided to go for apple because, well, that is usually my preference for pastries.   Don’t get me wrong, it was still utterly amazing! And paired with the sour cherry ice cream, it served its purpose quite well.  As you can see, I came prepared for dinner tonight, so I was able to capture photographic evidence of just how good it was. (And Davor, our guide, was kind enough to let me photograph his blueberry strudel as well…when I had explained the task you had given me, my entire group thought it a grand idea!) Anyway, the tart flavor of the ice cream in the cool medium of ice cream is delightful to the tongue. I have never had sour cherry ice cream before (only very sweet), and after a long day of good hiking, it tasted divine. It was consumed far more quickly than perhaps it should have been, but it was a fitting send off for Croatian desserts. My next stop was Slovenia, and I had no idea what to expect. Still, you really cannot go wrong with sweets anywhere, so I wasn’t too worried…

I didn’t have a Slovenian pastry on the first day there. Instead, I went ahead with ice cream, Nutella-flavored because I have a hard time resisting a chocolate-hazelnut combination. I have to admit, my heart wasn’t really into finding a treat on this day. Something about saying good-bye to Tom, Marty, and Davor made me far sadder than I thought possible. That put a slight damper on my arrival in Slovenia, and really, it didn’t improve a whole lot as time passed. It was lonely without my trusty travel companions, and I found myself wandering Slovenia feeling conspicuously alone.  Thankfully, I had the task of finding sweets charged to me, so I at least had that to spur me forward and out of my hostel room.  When I did get my ice cream, it started to drizzle, an apt reflection of my mood. Still, you cannot help but smile a little with an ice cream cone in hand, so all was not wrought with misery. It just happened to be a different experience that I think all who travel have at some point during a trip – the crash of adrenaline, the realization that the trip is winding down, and the reality of the world looming over you. That is why God made such things as ice cream (and strudel and sweet crepes and anything in between) – it makes the not so fun parts bearable!

The final night away from home. The day began in Ljubljana, and overall it went better than the day before.  However, as I was heading to the train station, I found myself with far too many Euros (Croatia is still not a part of the EU), and not wanting to have to endure the hassle of converting it back, I figured purchasing food was the best way to go. One of those purchases was this chocolate-filled donut that would serve as my pastry for the day. Sadly, it took me until late in the evening to be hungry enough for it, so it was not as fresh as it could have been. (It managed to stay fairly unsquished in my backpack through a long train ride and the seemingly impossible search for the bus that would take me out to my final hotel.) It managed to have a nice balance of chocolate and fluffy donut dough, and it was a lot of fun having a chance to eat it in my adorable little hotel room. (Seriously, this place was a five minute walk from the airport—key to arriving in time for an early morning flight—and it had the best shower ever, beautiful furnishings, a fabulous television AND the owner made me sandwiches and gave me an entire liter of juice for the next morning since I was leaving before breakfast.  I left the juice behind because there was no way I could consume an entire liter before hitting security, so I didn’t want to waste it.)  Funny, the last night in Croatia, I spent organizing my things and watching television. There is a strange mix of programming on Croatian television –several familiar American shows like Friends and Sex and the City, a slew of telenovellas from South America and even a few soaps from Turkey.  I always find European music videos enjoyable for all their absurdity, and don’t get me started on the commercials.  It was a nice, quiet way to unwind after several days on the go.

Thank you for asking for this souvenir! Seriously, it not only made me venture out to try different things, it helped spark (at least a little) an urge to do a little crafted writing. The biggest challenge (besides the torture of eating delicious food!) was trying to describe eating without sounding horribly…sensual J I remember a professor once saying that anytime an author wrote about food, s/he was really writing about sex. I truly understand that now…all kidding aside, I hope that this wasn’t TOO much information, and I hope you are satisfied. If not, I will be more than willing to go back and try again…but this time, I would encourage you to tag along and guide me away from making the same mistakes again!

First Impressions

First impressions are often the most enduring. I never know what kind of impression I make, but hopefully it is a good one. Still, it is something I fret over, and as I was flying over the Atlantic, I worried about it. Would I get along okay with the other members of the group? Would I be able to hack it on the hikes? Will they mistake my shyness for conceit or disinterest? (Did I spend any time wondering what I kind of people I would be working with? Nope--not really. I was too concerned and self-centered at this point to think about how they would think of me!)

All the worrying was for nothing. The first person I met after leaving the baggage claim in Zagreb was our guide for the tour, Davor--friendly, helpful, and extremely nice. I liked him immediately. As we drove to the hotel, he provided me with some background about the city--its rich heritage defined by its ties to the Austria-Hungarian empire, the effects of being a part of communist Yugoslavia, and even the effects of the war with Serbia. My knowledge of Croatia had been to this point abysmal, and even now, I wonder if I am representing it accurately. Still, outside of his general friendliness, one of the things I observed about Davor was his strange habit of scanning Croatian radio stations for English songs. It seemed the second advertisements, Croatian music or something similar came on, he would quickly find the next familiar tune. I later learned that this was just one of his many ways to accommodate us, but at the time I found the act itself amusing and I was astounded by the amount of American music there was (particularly upon listening to listening to the mix of American songs playing--there are some bad ones out there!).

I personally was struck mute, my mind still trying to process the fact that I was in Croatia and all that meant as well. While I am absorbing information, I find it difficult to formulate good questions to ask, let alone vocalize any. So, I sat with a bit of a dazed smile on my face and nodded along.

Once I checked into the hotel, I learned that there were only two other members of the group. The thought of a small group (four members total) unnerved me a bit. It is pretty much impossible to blend into the background, hang along the edges (a tactic employed while touring Crete). If there are personality conflicts, that would mean long-term trouble, and it could ruin the whole trip.  Can you tell I was a bit anxious?

Turns out, I was worried about nothing. Tom and Marty were a couple from Calgary who proved to be ideal travel companions. Tom and Marty are about my parents' ages, which actually played a large role in why I could get along with them so well. But more importantly it was the kindness and compassion that exude from Marty as she first talks with you. It was the genial and genuine enthusiasm for life that made it impossible NOT to like Tom. It was always easy to smile when they were around. Not only were they great people, but their traveling history impressed me (and made me a little green with envy). As I learned more about each--about Marty's time abroad that had her spending time everywhere in a time where it was even more dangerous to travel alone as a woman. Tom's work took him everywhere in the world, and there met people from such diverse backgrounds. Very proud parents, they have instilled an appreciation for travel in their son and their daughter. Two people from whom we could learn a number of important lessons.

Based on first impressions alone, I knew this was going to work. Little did I know at the time how much I had to learn from each of them, and I had no idea just how much of an impact their presence would have on this experience. (Even as I write this, I find that I am being a bit sappy and sentimental. Truth be told, I am one of those people who, given the right circumstances will gush effusively because I know of no better way to state my appreciation. I am afraid I attach too easily, opening myself up to vulnerability and hurt. To counteract this I often go to the other extreme and remain completely detached. In a group this small, that would be pretty much impossible.)

This particular trip was an eye-opening reminder that while what you are doing is important, arguably with whom you are sharing that experience is just as important. Hopefully, as I continue the narrative account of my trip, what I am trying to capture here so futilely will bear itself out. At least I certainly hope so :)

Just the Beginning

I used to say that I lose a small piece of my heart every time I travel, falling in love at least a little bit with the destination, its people, and the experiences and leaving a part of me behind. However, it really makes no sense to think of it as a loss. More accurately, my heart grows with each new experience as I explore, learn, and live. And what is life really about if not growing and, in turn, helping others grow, too?

My time in Croatia proved far more expansive than I could have ever imagined. The group I traveled with was small--it was just me, an amazing couple from Calgary, and our intelligent and ever-so patient guide. Together, we explored the innumerable natural treasures of Croatia, engaged in conversations about just about anything, and had a lot of fun.

Over the next couple of weeks, I hope to use this blog not only to chronicle my time outdoors, but to apply some of what I learned to my life now. Yes, this trip was meant to be one that transported me away from the worries of day-to-day life, but it is impossible for me to divorce my experiences in Croatia from the context in which the needs was created. (Basically, there was a reason I needed to get away, and if I don't figure out what that was, much of the perspective I have gained this past 10 days will be lost.)

As will soon become apparent, my time in Croatia did something I have hope would happen--it has sparked my desire to write again. I have written and rewritten accounts of the past few days, several pages of thoughts, impressions, and even a few questions. I will do my best to spare you of all the excessive details, distilling my words to reflect only the more interesting experiences and insights. Please be patient, though, because I am still searching for the write voice in which to share these stories.  Also, if you want to hear more about something, please ask! Although, I am not really sure if anyone would dare ask me for more details...:)

There is a lot to go through, and so much that is important to me but may be of little interest to you. Now it is just a matter of catering to your needs.

Bags Are Packed

Almost time to go on my next big adventure. I have reached that point where nothing really stands between me and the airport.  I have packed everything (and triple-checked it). I have my itinerary, my passport, and all other necessities to travel with me. I have books, crosswords, and a journal to keep me occupied. I am experiencing both waves of excitement and anxiety, but it isn't an altogether unpleasant feeling. I will do my best to get some sleep tonight, but I have a feeling that about 2:00 a.m., I will roll over and realize that time has slowed to a crawl, and that I have a long night ahead of me.

Now, all I have to do is make sure that everything goes fairly smoothly--for some reason, I figure if I can at least get to Europe, I'll be good to go. :)  No long layovers this trip (two hours maximum, which in airport time is not much at all any more), so hopefully no real delays between connecting flights. I guess right now that is my biggest worry. Silly, when you think about it.

Anyway, hopefully, the next time I post, I will have way too many photos to share and so many fun stories to tell, it will be at least a month until I talk about something else...(well, I probably will throw in a few other stories in between, but yeah, consider yourself warned!)

Wishing you all a happy, safe Memorial Day weekend, and hoping that you too find adventure and relaxation!

Consumerism Strikes

Eleven days and counting. Yeah, I am that annoying person who announces to the world just how long it is until she goes on vacation. Still, I keep thinking how little time that is and how much more I need to do. It is getting to the point that it is a bit of distraction at work.  (Do not worry, however. I am still an upstanding employee making sure that all of her responsibilities have been taken care of before she lets her mind start to wander...it is a bit too soon to let my mind go on vacation just yet).  What is weird is that right now, I am not so much thinking of all the fun things that I will do on my vacation. Instead, I have this urgent need to shop. It is a compulsion I feel rarely, but when I do, it certainly hits with a vengence.

So, what is it that I am in the market for?  Well, for starters, I want some new shorts. Granted, I have a couple of pairs of shorts that (probably) fit and would work just fine. However, I am afraid they won't be as comfortable as I want them to be, and it would help if they are the wash and wear type. You never know what you might encounter along the trail... To go with my new shorts, I will need a few new t-shirts that, again, lend themselves to quick drying for wash & wear use. And it wouldn't hurt if they look good. Most of my t-shirts at home are rather shapeless and blah. If I am going to travel, I should travel in style, right? Which leads me to finding a cute dress. While I enjoy the versatility of the typical tourist uniform of t-shirts and shorts, there may be a couple of times during this trip that I want to look a little nicer. You know, if somehow I work up the nerve to go out at night for a nice dinner or something. I want to have something available that will help me look a little less like a vagabond and...dare I say it...look cute. (Believe it or not, being cute/attractive or whatever is not usually on my top list of priorities when I choose my wardrobe. I tend to adopt a more utilitarian perspective, hoping to achieve a level of professionalism that doesn't really call too much attention to me.) When traveling, though, I like to leave behind some of my more reserved nature and be open to exploring different experiences (still while exercising caution! I know the challenges out there for people traveling solo, so don't think I see traveling as an opportunity to leave ALL senses behind.) Again, one of the reasons I love to travel--no one has preconceived notions of who I am, and so that frees me from living up to expectations. (And, yes, I recognize that I can adopt this mentality in my day-to-day life, but it is a little harder since I easily allow myself to be pigeon-holed into a certain role. Hmm...lots of asides in this post. Oops!)  If I do find something, I'll let you all know. And if you know of any good places to find cute dresses, that would be helfpul, too...

Besides a few new outfits, I am thinking I need a new camera. I didn't think I needed a new camera until a friend showed me her new camera the other day. Then it got me thinking I should trade up to something a little less bulky than what I currently own.  I don't need anything super fancy as taking pictures often comes as an afterthought. But, if it is a bit more compact, it will make my life just that much easier. Right?

So, I completely feel like I have been lured in by the typical materialistic messages to which we are all exposed daily. Yet, since I so rarely indulge in good old consumerism, I feel a little less guilty in buying things that I really have no need for. My when I actually have the time to indulge (this weekend), the urge will have lessened significantly, and I will not be inclined to spend quite as much. And, I tend to be extremely picky, so the likelihood I will find something I want to buy is even less certain. We'll see.

Trip Update

I had a fabulous surprise awaiting me in my email this morning just before lunch--my final itinerary for my trip to Croatia! While I know it has been weeks (months, even) since I have booked my trip, it wasn't until I had all the details at my fingertips that I realized that by the end of May, I will be in a foreign country, once again experiencing the thrill of discovering somewhere new.

I think that is one of the things I love most about travel. It is surrounding myself with the unfamiliar, finding something that I, in a way, can make my own. I have taken several trips with friends over the years, and during those times, I made memories I will never forget. I still laugh at the time my friend Carrie and I were invited to hop on the bus to some strange Welsh village "where the men are REAL men." (I believe this very hospitable man had just finished spending some time at the pub...believe it or not, we decided to head back to Cardiff as we originally planned.) My trip to Cornwall would never have even happened if my friend Lauren hadn't convinced me we needed to see if there really were pirates in Penzance. (Sadly, the closest we came was a cartoonish mural.) That was also the trip we got hopelessly lost trying to find some prehistorical donut that cures back problems if you crawl through it (Men-an-tol)--we eventually did find it, but not before we had to stare down a group of menacing looking cows in a bog.

Men-An-Tol outside of Penzance

Despite all the wonderful times I have had with friends, I now find myself looking to create something that is just me. That is why I enjoy traveling by myself. I can be selfish about my discoveries, having these experiences that no one I know will have had. This trip, this little slice of my life, is for me and me alone. 

That probably sounds strange. Who wouldn't want to share these kind of memories so that they can be relived over and over again? For me, going off to somewhere I am a complete stranger, where I cannot even speak the language, makes me work outside my comfort zone. I can be myself in a way that I won't allow myself to be where others know me. While in my normal life, at home, at work, and with friends, I feel this need always to be competent, reliable, knowledgeable and able to do ANYTHING. There is no room for mistakes or error, and if I do screw up, it is reason to get frustrated because I have let another person down. I felt it when traveling with my friends, too--if everything didn't go smoothly, more often than not, I would somehow blame myself (like when we got lost, we should have gone straight past the caravan--trailer--instead of veering right, but that map was confusing...). And while my friends were more than gracious, I still couldn't shake the nagging feeling I disappointed.

By myself, however, there is no one to disappoint. Indeed, there is no way I can figure it all out. I must ask for help. I have to swallow my pride and speak up if something goes wrong. I cannot rely on someone else to do it for me, and I cannot just figure it out on my own. It makes me connect with the people around me in a way that I do not do here at home. And it reminds me that most people are more than happy to help. I just hate to do so. 

I also find that I am more likely to engage in conversations with complete strangers. Again, something I do not do when at home. Last year while I was in Crete, I enjoyed an hour long conversation with one of the waiters at the restaurant I chose for dinner (I ate a bit earlier than most Greek people, so it was really slow at the time.) I would never consider doing that at a restaurant here, but there it seemed ok. I don't know...sometimes, I think I am a more confident, more open person when I travel alone. It is like I can check my neurosis as I leave the country. I shed the insecurities, the expectations that follow me every day, and I end up being that person who smiles to herself as she walks down the street. I like her a lot, to be honest. Hopefully, after 8 days in Europe, she will stick around awhile in Kansas City...